The Undying Dreamer
by Averos The Half Noble
Summary: Updating twice a week if I can. Set in WOTLK pre Cata. About a warrior turned well, that is to be said.


_Foreword, This is my first published story, be gentle with reviews if you can help it. I enjoy to hear your thought and any help with this is welcome. I am looking for some sort of beta reader at the moment, just haven't a clue who would want to read this stuff "first." Well without further ado, here it is._

The Undying Dreamer

Slowly, like a hammer on warm steel, his saronite clad feet slammed into the damp, blood soaked earth. A battle not long past had been waged and the winner deiced on this field, he knew. Warmness began slowly descending from his eyes, tears he knew, he had known many that had fallen to the oppressive force they had faced. Brave man all of them he thought to himself as he kept up his slow, even pace. He thought back to right after the battle.

He had been called to identify the blood soaked, scarred, bodies of those men. He had looked into their cold, forever staring, lifeless eyes as he stated their names and rank. He had felt an odd mix of rage and sadness as he stared at the friends he had made in the friendless world of war. He knew they all had families; he knew that there were wives that now had to move on without a man of the house. He knew that there were now children with no father to raise them, no father to keep them safe, no father to be there for them.

He also knew that those that had fought and killed the men he had now called brothers would all die, he had sworn it to the gods above to avenge the brave souls now laying in shallow graves. He felt the rage that had become a close ally to him begin to flood his mind as his steps became faster.

A man began to come into his view, the rage growing slowly as his feet thudded harder and faster into the soft ground. He had broken into a run at the lone man, the man began to grow as he came closer, he spotted a hand and a half blade in his hand. The blade seemed to almost glow slightly as the lone man carried it in one hand with ease.

As he came closer still he noticed the man's eyes, they were glowing a sharp, cold blue. The rage began to take over his body more, he knew this man was an enemy to him, an enemy to all that he stood for. His run was changing slowly into a charge, his feet leaving deep marks in the earth as the rage filled him. He saw the other man, the lone one watching him slowly.

Rage kept his limbs moving, he pulled the large triangle shield from his back, the weight of it almost making him loose his balance as he charged. His other hand quickly grabbing the mace that hung loosely at his side, its head marked with tens of razor sharp saronite claws.

The man began to slowly raise his own weapon, waiting for the time when he would have to defend himself with it. The distance between the two was only a couple of yards. He lowered his shield in front of him, then put his body weight behind it as he collided into the lone man's unmoving figure.

They went down together, the lone spike on his shield digging into the lone man. He got up quickly, hefting his shield in front of him defensively and holding his mace loosely in the other hand, ready to strike. The other man lay unmoving, a large hole adorning the front of his now useless breastplate. He saw that the other was still breathing, still alive. He thought to grant this demon some sort of mercy, the thought vanished as he looked into the other's cold, glowing eyes.

He slowly walked to the man, his shield still held up in case this was some well thought out ruse. His feet thudded audibly beneath him as he drew slowly closer, he could now see the man's face clearly, he saw no expression, no sign of the man feeling the pain. He kept slowly thudding closer, he stopped at the man's feet, kicking away his hand and a half sword, to prevent further unneeded damage to himself.

Once sure the blade was out of the man's reach he slowly slid his own shield off of his arm, dropping it slowly to the soft ground with a thud. He slowly began leaning over, keeping the mace tight in his grip, he looked into those glowing eyes again, searching for a sign of consciousness. He concluded, after looking into the ever-staring eyes the man had been knocked out cold, probably by his shield, or the wound in his chest. Either way, the man was harmless at the moment.

He dropped his mace near his shield carefully before kneeling down to inspect the man's wound. The other's breastplate had quite a hole in it, he looked at the three inch across rend, the moved his gloved hand nearer, slowly feeling around the wound to see if any shrapnel had been forced in as well. His hand slowly came to the inside of the wound, still feeling for any foreign objects. His hand found nothing besides broken bones and blood.

He stood up again, wondering if this man knew anything that may be vital to his sides' cause. He looked around the field of war again, to see if there was anyone around that had witnessed the accident. As his eyes looked the, for some reason, began to move lower and lower. He found himself staring at the faintly glowing runeblade; the cold blue glow of it reminded him of the man he had just incapacitated. He started to kneel slowly, trying to get a better look at what appeared to be a foreign language somehow moving across the surface of the weapon.

He felt an urge to pick it up, examine it closer. Before he knew it his hands were extending to pickup the unholy implement. He let them go, the urge still present. His right hand found the hilt of the weapon; his left slowly began to climb the blade, picking it up carefully. His hands began to grow numb, some kind of cold emanating from the blade, he opened his eyes further in shock. He tried to drop the blade, but found his hands somehow frozen to it. He could barely move his arms at this point as the deathly chill spread through him.

He began to run, trying to work up some kind of heat to combat the chill, or to find help. So he ran, faster then he had charged at the blades owner not minutes ago. The cold steadily found it's way to every nook and crevice of his arms, then worked its way to his chest, and his franticly beating heart. He felt the cold begin to impale his chest; a shiver ran through him, his body began to numb more. His legs began to falter, he soon found himself on the ground, his mind in a daze as the cold wrapped its tendrils of numbness around his heart.

Darkness was clouding his vision slowly, he felt his own heart stop, then he saw nothing but blackness as the cold kept spreading into him. He could see nothing, but the cold still remained, he felt it climbing its way up his neck sluggishly, moving it's way to his legs faster. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but instead the cold pounced onto his tongue, numbing it into paralysis. The last thing he felt was the cold slowly wrapping itself around his head, before his mind finally gave out and he fell into unconsciousness.


End file.
